Right In Front Of Your Eyes
by DeniseV
Summary: Ezra took a bit of a risk in my last story, The Voodoo That You Do.  He is still recovering, and his friends are nearby to make sure he does, but that doesn't mean Chris is letting him off the hook on the singing thing.


This is a follow-up to my story "The Voodoo That You Do". There are references to a couple of my other Mag7 stories as well, but this one coupled with "Voodoo" should make sense without reading the others.

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><p>"Did you really do that?" J.D. Dunne asked, his face scrunched up in disgust at the thought.<p>

"He already answered the question, kid," Buck Wilmington said as he looked to the gambler with an apologetic glance. The tall gunman had taken on the role of mentor to the young sheriff, but one thing he'd had no luck in quelling in J.D. was his insatiable curiosity. Buck didn't want to smother that quality in the young man that made him good at his job as a lawman, he just would like the kid to understand tact and timing … and learn to read when one of his partners had had enough of a given topic.

In Buck's opinion, though he couldn't come up with an alternative at the moment, it seemed that Ezra Standish must have had some option open to him other than forcing himself to be sick with another man's vomit. But he sure didn't plan on pressing the issue with the con man. There was no doubt that just thinking on it was making the southerner feel sick. The fact that he was still pale as a ghost from blood loss and doing everything in his power to not move his injured arm proved he was just barely managing as it was. Why their healer had allowed the man out of the clinic so soon baffled the ladies' man.

"I know," J.D. admitted. "I just … " Chris Larabee cut him off.

"Ezra's quick thinking is why that day ended with no one dead. Why don't you give him a break, J.D.," the leader advised.

"No, Mistah Larabee. J.D. is right to be curious. And frankly, it is not the actual act of placing the vomit in mah mouth – as memorable as that moment was – but that Ah found somethin' to do out of nothin' that is the lesson heah." Ezra stopped and took a taste of Inez's hearty beef broth. They could all tell that the man was struggling to get the murky soup down, his appetite having been nowhere in sight since getting shot just three days before, but he knew he needed the nutritious meal to help replenish the alarmingly large volume of blood he had lost that day. "To see what is not there yet right in front of your eyes. Ah feel obliged to pass along anything that might prove educational in relayin' that lesson."

_To __see __what __is __not __there __yet __right __in __front __of __your __eyes_. It was a lesson Ezra had learned … for his profession as a card player, a con man, even as a lawman. As a man? A friend? It was an ongoing education, but he knew he was well on his way to mastery in those areas as well. He'd needed this place, these men, at this time in his life, though, to get that far.

"All right, Ez. But it seems to me if you're well enough to be givin' lessons and making an appearance here in the saloon, then you're well enough to sing us that song."

"Ah b'lieve mah response the first time you suggested it, Mistah Larabee, was 'No'," Ezra reminded.

"I know what ya said," Chris agreed with a knowing grin. But as Chris had learned in his time spent with Ezra Standish, no only meant no until that time when Ezra was finally prepared to say yes.

"And ya weren't shy about singin' for us before," Buck encouraged.

Nathan Jackson walked up at that moment. "In a dress, no less," the healer added with a smile.

"You are a veritable poet, Mistah Jackson," Ezra noted dryly.

"Come on, Ezra," Vin Tanner joined in. The tracker didn't really care about hearing the song; he was just happy to have Ezra here and be able to enjoy his company. There was no way to know for sure if his presence in town rather than out at Nettie Wells' homestead might have made any difference during the robbery attempt that ended with Ezra getting shot. For now, he was just happy to keep the injured-but-healing, and, in his recuperation, somewhat crotchety southerner in his sights.

"Everybody knows that when you aren't dressin' as a woman, or playin' a drunk … " Josiah Sanchez commented.

"Or actually _bein__'_ drunk," Buck chided. Ezra tossed an embarrassed glance toward Vin. The gambler rarely drank to excess, but he had made a fool of himself – and hurt the feelings of a good man – when he'd loudly humiliated the tracker in the saloon so long ago, that day Vin had come to ask for help writing out his poem for Mary Travis to publish. At this very moment it didn't feel that long ago to Ezra, but Vin, being the good man that he was, reminded the southerner with a cock of the head, a wink and a warm smile that all was forgiven for that slight.

"Ya got a nice voice," Josiah finished.

"Josiah, might Ah first remind you that Ah have only and shall only evah dress as a woman one time. Secondly, as our fearless leader continually fails to mention, Chris is lookin' to get me to accommodate an alternate lyric to that ridiculous song, a lyric that Ah only have evah sung once, in a moment of weakness."

"Drunk," Buck mumbled, not at all under his breath.

Ezra rolled his eyes and took another spoonful of the soup. Pausing to eat was simply an effort to redirect the conversation, but it wasn't likely to fend anyone off for very long. He set the spoon down and pushed the bowl away. Nathan pushed it back in front of him.

"You need to take more of that, Ezra," he said, his tone kind but firm.

"Ah know." Ezra took another taste. And then another. They all knew that there would be nothing gained if eating made him sick, and damned if he wasn't looking more ill by the moment. Nathan stood and picked up the bowl.

"Let me see if Inez has something else back there," he said.

"Nathan," Ezra pleaded. "Please, Inez has other more important things to do." Despite the fact that he no longer had responsibility for the goings-on at the saloon, he still made himself available to the pretty Mexican for whatever she needed, be it stacking and rearranging in the stockroom, helping to place orders for liquor, glasses or anything else that might be required for the proper running of a drinking establishment, cleaning … whatever. He and Inez had built a bond of friendship, separate from the very special relationships he held with these six men he worked with day in and day out. He felt guilty not being available to help her when he became injured in the line of duty. Of course, his peacekeeping brethren weren't aware of all that he did to help, so Nathan ignored the appeal.

"I'll be back," the healer said.

Ezra took the hand not enrobed in a sling and rubbed his forehead and then rested the elbow of his good arm on the arm of the chair, his head now setting in the palm of his hand. He rested like that for five minutes which quickly became ten as his friends remained quiet and let him have his nap. At twenty minutes his elbow slipped from the chair, jarring him … and his hurt arm badly. He hissed as he took his injured arm in his uninjured one and held tight, breathing carefully through the pain.

The rest of the seven, minus Nathan, looked at each other with concern. Vin leaned in close to the gambler and asked, "Y'all right, Ezra?"

Ezra took a deep breath and then let the air out with a heavy sigh. He looked up at Vin and attempted a smile, a successful one considering what he'd been through these last few days. "Not as well as Ah wish, but certainly Ah am bettah than the potential alternative outcome to this foiled bank robbery."

"Is there anything ya need, Ez?" J.D. asked with a worried furrow to his brow. He hated to admit it, and he wouldn't out loud, but he did feel somewhat guilty for his role in all of this. Admitting it out loud, though, would mean admitting that opening his mouth about their nice, quiet lull had really had something to do with this most recent skirmish in their town.

"Mistah Dunne, a glass of water would be most appreciated."

"Be right back," J.D. said, jumping to the task.

"That boy is over-the-top filled with energy," Josiah observed.

"Annoying, ain't it?" Buck asked.

"Sometimes," Josiah agreed with a smile. Vin, Chris and Ezra all smirked in affectionate agreement.

Nathan returned to the table with a steaming bowl.

"What have we here?" Ezra asked with no small dose of sarcasm. "Gruel?"

"If you're gonna be like that I'll just eat it myself," Nathan said as he set the bowl in front of the resident card sharp. Not that he really would; the healer knew that this was their best opportunity since the shooting to get Ezra to eat a substantial meal. And it was clear from the look on the self-professed con artist's face that there would be no successful con in the near future, as the look on the face of Ezra Standish perfectly betrayed his feelings. The surprise and affection held in the handsome, pale but expressive face brought a smile to the faces of all of the regulators. They'd done it, put one over on their friend, in the best way possible. J.D. rushed in with the requested glass of water.

"Didja taste it?" he asked with a beaming smile.

"It has just arrived, J.D., so no," Ezra started. "Where … " he continued, but Chris interrupted with an explanation.

"Vin thought it might be a good idea to find out what foods you really like." They had all thought it a good idea, especially now that they knew Ezra to be so disinclined to eat when he was sick or injured. In this regard, the gambler was so much like Chris' little boy Adam. Chicken and dumplings might have been the former gunslinger's favorite meal that Sarah cooked, but it was also something they could always count on to kick-start Adam's appetite after he'd been ill.

"Yeah, you know, hoss. Comfort food," Buck suggested.

"Gentlemen, we eat together, in some constellation of the seven of us or fewer, every day. Ah b'lieve you know what Ah like."

"That's not the same," Nathan said, his concern for Ezra's lack of appetite palpable.

"We can all tell that you eat sometimes only because you have to, not 'cause you want to," Vin explained. "Except for when there really is somethin' special to eat. Unfortunately, you're sick so _you_ ain't doin' the cookin'."

"Ah am injured, Mistah Tanner, not sick."

"You're both," Nathan insisted.

Ezra nodded, the depth of his friends' concern for his welfare warming him more than anything had these last days. He'd felt cold since the moment he'd taken that bullet; Nathan had explained that the chill had been due to the excessive blood loss. He had been shot several times in his life, but this time it was different. Nathan's presence close by since he'd been allowed out of the clinic told him that it was a serious injury, even if the pain hadn't already done so, or the persistent lightheadedness, the weakness, and the lack of appetite for just about anything. But more than cold, Ezra Standish felt things that he had never felt in his life. Fragile. Vulnerable. He had felt other things – uncertainty, unworthy – but these new feelings … he worried about them. These were dangerous feelings for a man who faced danger, head on, every day of his life. He had come to realize, though, with these men standing at his side, that he now had the strength and the freedom to feel these things without fear for the repercussions that opening himself up to such feelings held for him in the past.

With all of his friends gathered around him, he knew he would heal; being with these good men – these good friends – he knew he was in good hands, and he didn't mean just the gentle hands of their healer.

"Ah see. And how did you come across this heretofore unknown information?" Ezra asked as he picked up the spoon and placed it in the bowl for a first taste. He put the spoonful in his mouth and savored the flavors, letting the soft, just-barely grainy feel trickle across his tongue as he attempted to recognize each ingredient that had been added by the beautiful Mexican chef. His eyes were closed as he tasted the familiar feel of the food from The South mixed with the notable flavors of the nearer south: Mexico. He opened his eyes just as his question was answered.

"Maude," Josiah replied.

Ezra sucked in a shocked gasp, which caused some of the food in his mouth to head down his throat unexpectedly. He coughed, and then coughed again. And then he was choking. Buck leaned over to slap him on the back.

"Don't!" Nathan warned. "Gotta watch his arm. I'll do it." Ezra's eyes grew wide, even wild, as he realized he couldn't breathe. It had been so sudden, and now with Nathan's urgent call to Buck, the gambler was feeling panicked, and it showed. "Relax, Ezra," Nathan instructed calmly. The healer placed his body up against the southerner's wounded left arm and leaned down to secure it with his own. He could feel Ezra vibrate, his muscles strained, his whole body tense. Nathan pulled him tight, an embrace intended only to relay that he was safe, that Nathan wouldn't let him suffocate. Ezra leaned in to the touch, and as Nathan held him, the healer could feel Ezra relax, just a little. Then Nathan took his right hand and rubbed firmly at the nape of Ezra's neck, right where it met his back, and slapped it firmly. The gambler moaned, took a quick breath, and then lifted his good hand to indicate that he was better. He swallowed what had come back up from the hard slap, took another quick breath and then took another longer, soothing one. His hand came back down and patted Nathan's arm, still holding him secure. Their eyes met, and Ezra nodded his head and sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Nathan," he said as he cleared his throat. He kept patting his hand, rhythmically, unconsciously, on Nathan's arm. "Mah apologies … " he continued.

"Don't apologize. We shoulda broke the news about yer Ma a little more gentle-like," Vin said, his own apology writ with every word he spoke.

"No," Ezra countered. He tapped Nathan once more, holding on a little longer than normal as a silent thank you. Nathan stepped away, but sat right by the recovering lawman. "Ah b'lieve Ah should not be surprised by the lengths you all will go to … aid mah recovery." _Or __to __encourage __a __friendship_, he thought. They – he and his friends – had come a long, long way.

"You should know that we care about ya," Chris said.

"Wouldn't be the same 'round here without ya," Buck added.

"Yeah," J.D. went on. "So if it means gettin' ya somethin' ya like to eat, it ain't a big deal."

"Well, Ah beg to differ, J.D. It is a very big deal … to me," Ezra admitted.

"Ain't no more than what you do for us and this town," Nathan said. It had taken him a long time, much longer than his peacekeeping brothers, to recognize the good in Ezra Standish. But once he'd found it, he had no intention of losing it.

"But we're going to have to talk about some of these risks you take," Chris said.

"Ah do not … " the card sharp started, but Vin cut him off.

"You do, Ez. All the time. You earned some pamperin' of your own. But Chris is right, we need ta talk."

"But right now, you should eat some of that good pampering before it gets cold," Josiah suggested.

Ezra looked to all of his friends, offering a grateful, embarrassed grin to each of them.

"Eat," Nathan ordered.

And he did. It was grits. And it was divine. Ezra knew that, with the right amount of effort, grits could be something that he could enjoy regularly out here in the wilds of the west. But whether it was the name of the food, which he agreed was a little off-putting, or the flavor of it, which, if it wasn't properly amended with interesting ingredients could be rather bland, nothing had ever come of it. He certainly couldn't bother making grits if he was going to be the only one eating it. He had thought of making shrimp and grits, a Southern delicacy that he enjoyed the few times he had visited Charleston, South Carolina, before the war – and the one time after – as one of the upcoming meals for he and his compatriots, but had opted against it due to the outrageous cost of acquiring fresh shrimp, an amount that seemed equivalent to giving up his first born. Ezra Standish, Jr. seemed less and less likely the longer he stayed in this backwater town, but who was really to say when the future Mrs. Standish might show up to claim her ring? That thought took a back seat as the flavors in his mouth stepped up front and center.

"How?" he asked, knowing that was all he needed to say to get the information he sought. He chose, rather, to enjoy the food and wait for that answer. Inez had done an amazing job. The grits had been flavored; Ezra's discerning palate said it was with some chicken broth. He was fully aware of all of the good things that went into a stock pot of chicken when the pretty senorita made a batch of the rich, savory broth. Sauteed tomatoes, tomatillos and a mildly spicy pepper were also evident as Ezra savored the definitely _not _gruel. Pieces of a piquant sausage were found throughout, and Inez had included a fried egg on top, which Ezra left to the side, for now, though as he continued to eat the delicious bowl of grits before him, he seemed to have found his previously missing-in-action appetite and doubted anything would be left in the bowl by the time he was through.

"We sent Maude the question about what ya liked to eat a while back, when ya started making those nice meals for us," Vin said.

"We'd wanted to do something for ya before that, you know, 'cause of all the good you do for us and the town," J.D. said.

"J.D., Ah do not do any more than all of the rest of you do."

"That's not true, son, and you know it," Josiah said.

"You take an awful lot of those winnings from poker and use it for all kinds of stuff," Buck noted.

"As you gentlemen also have been known to do when you are flush," Ezra argued. He took a large spoonful of the grits and nearly groaned in satisfaction. He certainly made a noise loud enough for all to hear. "Mah apologies for eating in front of you." He took another taste and then said, "Ah feel that we all offer our best for the betterment of this town." He knew that he used to think that he did, but it wasn't until after the affair with the territorial governor and Mary Travis nearly getting shot that he realized he hadn't done enough; how could he if he was willing to leave the town so readily for mere money. No, his lesson had been hard-learned, in more ways than just taking another bullet to his person.

"Don't know 'bout that, Ez. That nice Kentucky bourbon that you always share with us trumps anything I've ever done," Buck said as he bumped Ezra in his good shoulder. The bump reverberated across Ezra's body to his bad arm, and he closed his eyes, breathing through the sudden pain. He didn't say anything, not wanting to make Buck feel bad, but he'd dropped the spoon and grasped his arm as though to protect it from any more unintended harm from his large, jovial friend; it was not likely that Buck missed the action. And even if he had, Ezra knew there was little he could do to stop his comrades from reprimanding the town's Lothario in his stead.

"Hell, Buck, you're as much of a bull in a china shop as J.D. sometimes," Chris chastised as Nathan knelt in front of the injured man, checking to make sure the stitches held. He knew there wasn't much else he could do for Ezra other than to be there for him as he rode out the pain.

"Hey!" It was the extent of J.D.'s argument. Toward the far end of the bar they heard a feminine, accented huff, and then the rustle of skirt followed by pounding feet heading back to the kitchen.

"Sorry, Ez," Buck said. Ezra nodded but didn't say anything. He hurt, though, and he needed a moment to decide if he could eat anymore. Maybe he should just head up to his room and the comfort – and protection – of his featherbed.

"Ezra, do you really think you ain't doin' good stuff for the town?" Vin asked, worried that his friend would think so little of his efforts.

"Ah do what Ah can," Ezra eked out.

"You put together that after school thing for the kids," Chris said.

"Ah hardly have time for minding it regularly," Ezra objected. Some of the younger children of the town needed something to keep their minds – and bodies – occupied as their parents were busy finishing up their workday. Ezra had started a reading, writing, arithmetic, riding, singing, playtime … whatever hour – or longer - to help keep them busy and out of trouble. It had grown to include many parents to help and keep the sessions going when Ezra was otherwise occupied with activities from his law enforcement responsibilities, which all-too-often included recuperating from injury. It had become cherished amongst the townsfolk, a routine that, with the parents' own efforts to school their children, was a well-appreciated and much-needed substitute until the town could acquire its own teacher.

"You organized all the mothers who didn't work to keep it goin'," Vin said.

"And some fathers who were in between jobs," Josiah added. Ezra had made a point, along with Chris and Josiah, to explain to these men how spending time with the children was more important to them, their families and their town than hanging out at the saloon – or other less desirable places – could ever be.

"All right. This is becoming embarrassin'." He was feeling nominally better since Buck had bumped him, but he wasn't sure he was up to eating any more. "What Ah don't understand is how you went in to the kitchen, Nathan, and in the span of thirty minutes came back with this," he said. No one missed the fact that Ezra had stopped eating his grits. "Ah know that there is significant work in getting the basic ingredient, and certainly Inez did not put this together in the short time that you were gone."

"No, she didn't. She's been gettin' the grits here and there, but she had enough that she was preparing a nice meal for you later. You just got lucky to get some of it early," Nathan explained.

"Well, Ah am grateful, gentlemen, for your thoughtfulness." He made to stand, keeping his good hand on the arm of the chair until he was able to maintain his balance. "Ah will now go and thank Senorita Recillos."

"You not gonna finish that?" Buck asked as he reached his hand to the bowl.

"Ah am through, Mistah Wilmington."

"You feelin' all right, Ez?" Chris asked.

"Ah find myself tiring before Ah have even done anything with mah day, Chris," the gambler answered honestly and with great frustration.

"It's gonna be a while before you're back to your old self, Ezra," Nathan warned. "You need to remember to take it easy," he added as he stood next to the southerner.

"Are you mah chaperone to the kitchen, then?" Ezra joked.

"You know it," Nathan answered.

"Yes. Ah do," Ezra replied. He was not unhappy for the escort.

"Hey!" Buck called, his mouth full of what remained of Ezra's breakfast. "What 'bout th'song?"

"Ah will sing one verse only," Ezra agreed. He turned to Chris. "It is newer lyrics, none that you have heard. Mistah Tanner was kind enough to help me with them."

"Whatever it takes," Chris said, his smile easy yet somehow evil at the same time. Ezra shook his head with a wry grin.

"I ain't takin' responsibility for him bein' in tune," Vin said.

"Like you would recognize in tune even if it slapped you in the face," Ezra shot back.

"He plays the harmonica," J.D. defended his friend.

"Yes, well, _play_ is a word much like physicians who _practice_, no offense Nathan. Vin has yet to show any expertise with that mouth organ," Ezra derided lightheartedly.

"See if I help you out with words to a song again," Vin threatened.

"Ah trust Ah will nevah need to. That should not preclude you from continuin' on with your poetry. Ah understand you were rushed on this one, though Ah do feel confident that your efforts will be appreciated." Vin smiled at the witty, friendly banter. Ezra dipped his head, shook it and snorted a laugh. He was so lucky. So lucky. He raised his head, wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, his mouth shaped in a crooked grin, and then started to sing the words that Vin wrote about how he felt about still being in this dusty town, this village called Four Corners. This place he called home:

_As friendship formed upon this dusty trail of life_

_Such luck to find six men I hold so dear!_

_At my back they stand in trouble and in strife_

_My brothers they will forever be near!_

With the end of the new verse of the 'song', Ezra took a bow as his friends applauded. He nearly tipped onto the floor, only Nathan's easy grasp kept him from hurting himself further on the hard wood. "Thank you, Nathan," he said as he recovered his balance. "And thank you for your encouraging ovation, gentlemen, but Mistah Tanner is the one who truly deserves your accolades."

The lawmen all offered Vin his own cheers. The tracker shrugged and said, "The words were mine, but the sentiment was all Ezra. Don't let him kid ya."

"This has really become too much," Ezra noted, uncomfortable with all the attention. He liked to be noticed, just not in this way. "Help me to the kitchen, Mistah Jackson?"

"That will not be necessary. I will follow you to your room." Inez Recillos came into the saloon from the kitchen carrying a tray. She saw that Buck was finishing off the bowl of grits. "I knew that you would find some reason to not finish your breakfast," she said, her words sharp but filled with concern as she scowled at Buck.

"Senorita Recillos, Ah assure you that Ah ate all that Ah could."

"I am sure you can eat a little more before going to bed," she insisted.

"To bed? Ah just got up," he argued, looking to Nathan. The healer just shrugged his shoulder, willing to allow someone else to see the gambler abed this time.

"You did not sleep well. You require a nap."

"He had a nap earlier," Buck offered. Ezra gave him a dirty look. "Ya did."

"Ignore him," Nathan said as he steered his friend to the staircase.

"Ah have every intention of doin' just that. Gentlemen."

His friends wished him a good rest. As they took the stairs slowly, Ezra said to Nathan so that Inez could not hear, "Ah feel Ah may have overdone it this mornin'."

"Buck hurt ya, didn't he?"

"Not intentionally. Ah would prefer that he not be made aware of that fact."

"I can keep it from him, but I want to get a good look at your arm." Nathan could feel more weight of the southerner against him, and he slowed down to keep pace with the deliberate pace of the healing man.

"Ah agree that it needs lookin' after." He leaned in closer. "Ah am feelin' unwell and will not be partaking in any more food this morning. Could you please ask Inez to take the tray away?"

"Sure," Nathan agreed. "Can you make it to your room?"

"Indeed."

"I'll follow along shortly." Ezra continued on without acknowledging Inez. Nathan turned to the worried Mexican beauty. "Inez, Ezra ain't feelin' so good. He really liked what he ate, but his arm got knocked some downstairs and he hasn't felt too good since. The food is upsetting his stomach. Can you take it away? I'm sure he'll eat something later."

"He is embarrassed that he does not feel good? This is crazy. I only wish to help," Inez insisted.

"He knows that."

"I do not believe that he does. I believe that he thinks that I will see him as weak if I see him ill. It makes no sense."

"Well, he's my friend. And it makes sense to him. And if he feels that way, then I am goin' to do whatever I have to so that he only has to suffer his injury and not his mortification, because though he shouldn't feel that way, he will. You understand, dontcha?" He leaned down to look Inez in the eyes, the warmth in them enough to tell the worried saloon keep that her friend was in good hands. That didn't mean she had to like it.

"Ach! Estupido!"

"Yeah, I ain't gonna argue with you on that." Inez turned and stormed away with her tray. Nathan smiled as he watched her leave, turned and walked the rest of the way to Ezra's room. When he arrived, he found the door ajar and Ezra asleep on the top of the bedcovers.

"I ain't gonna wake ya up, Ezra. You need the sleep. I'll look at your arm when you wake up. Sleep well," Nathan finished as he grabbed the throw at the foot of the bed and placed it over the slumbering man. He knew that he wouldn't be heard, but that was okay. He took a seat in the rocking chair at the window. Nathan still felt he had a lot to make up for, but he knew now – finally - the true kinship he felt with this other man from the South, a man so different, who stood for something so different than himself, a former slave. Except that Ezra didn't stand for what Nathan originally thought he did. He never had. It was Nathan who saw something so different for so long than what was really before his eyes. He had definitely learned something today from Ezra's lesson. Yeah, maybe Ezra had the right idea. Much like the southerner taking up that song at Chris' request - new words for their place and time - Nathan's encore would be to sit and watch his friend's back. It was the least he could do for a man who always had their backs, even with the turmoil of his history here in Four Corners. He was sure that Ezra now found comfort here, but it wouldn't hurt for the healer to be as obvious about how his feelings had changed toward Ezra Standish as Ezra was crooning out Vin's words and making it clear to all of his friends how he felt about them.

The End.


End file.
